A Greater Duty
by Sylvr
Summary: Batman and Superman knew each other long before the JLA, long before the masks, but only briefly. This is that time. NOT slash. Bats and Superman aren't mine!


Clark didn't know what drew his eyes to the dark teen in the expensive black car. It could have been any number of things, really—this boy was clearly not meant to be in a town so shabby and tiny as Smallville, Kansas. Maybe it was the car, or the neatly tailored black suit, or the way the driver opened his door for him, or the automatic regal carriage of his raven head. His eyes, so deep a blue as to be nearly black, took in the worn diner they had pulled up in front of with a sharp assurance and clarity at odds with the almost sullen expression on his face. Clark, uncertain as to why he felt the need to do so, set down the crate of vegetables he had been easily carrying and followed the boy and his driver into the restaurant. He entered the swinging doors and spotted the pair at a corner table, aware but uncaring of the whispers shooting around them. Tammy, the cheerful waitress, stood waiting for their order. The driver—a white-haired gentleman with a British accent—decided for both himself and the teen, who didn't seem to mind. Then the man rose and went to the bathroom. Clark, still confused as to why he felt so drawn to this outsider—he'd always been shy—went to the table and said, awkwardly,

"Hi."

The boy looked up, his penetrating blue eyes showing only a hint of surprise, and nodded.

"Hello."

"I'm Clark Kent." He extended his hand to be shaken, after a split second's thought.

"Bruce Wayne." They shook, though the farm boy was as careful as he always was to not squeeze _too_ hard—wouldn't want to crush his hand, after all. Bruce had a powerful handshake for a kid their age.

"Care to sit down?" Bruce offered casually, guardedly. He seemed a little uncomfortable, and that, at least, Clark could understand. He was so clearly out of place...

Clark sat down.

"So...what brings you to Smallville?"

The dark teen shrugged. "Just passing through. I'm headed to Beech Streams Prepatory upstate. Heard of it?"

Clark thought for a minute, paging through perfectly remembered maps in his mind. "Beech Streams...oh, yeah, BS Prep. Near Clearwater, right? We get a few students down here now and again."

"Yeah, it's near Clearwater. Where do you go to school?"

"Just Smallville High, nothing special."

"Cool." He seemed to have run out of things to say.

They sat, looking awkwardly at their hands. After a few moments, Clark straightened abruptly, his inhuman hearing catching signs of an impending disaster. Bruce's eyes narrowed, wondering what was wrong.

"Er, um, I, uh, have to go. Bye!" the alien said as he dashed for the door.

"Wait!" Bruce came tearing after him, bursting out of the restaurant and spotting what Clark had already heard. It was hard to miss.

There, careening down Main Street, was an-out-of-control eighteen-wheeler. Most everyone was running for cover, but Clark, who had paused, tucking his glasses into his pocket, of all things, stood near the curb. Bruce followed his gaze—there, further down the road, was a little girl, frozen with terror. Clark broke into a run, faster than he should be able to, even accounting for his farm-raised muscles. Even more intriguing, a flying piece of metal, launched ahead of the truck, seemed to _crumple _ when it hit Clark's skin. Bruce took note. The farm boy carried the girl to safety with a second to spare, and waited on the other side of the road for the semi to charge past, before crossing the road in its wake. He trotted back towards Bruce, his arms full of eight year old. The road ahead of the rampaging vehicle was clear, but...Bruce cocked his head, then took off at a speed that Clark was shocked at. That was nearly as fast as _he_ had been going, and he could bench press a truck! And then he heard what had sent his new friend running—a motorcycle engine. Whoever the biker was, he didn't know about the semi, because he was coming down Market Street—which met Main at an angle that would cover the semi until it was too late to miss it. Bruce was sprinting to the corner, and as soon as his feet left the curb, he catapulted himself forwards, diagonally across the path of the truck—and seemingly out of nowhere, the motorcycle and rider appeared underneath him. The raven-haired teen tackled the helmeted figure, sending the pair of them skidding to the pavement on the other side of the road, having timed his leap perfectly. While still mid-air, the biker beneath him, Bruce felt the truck's slipstream tug at his toes, and one of the metal struts on the side of the container sliced off a trailing shoelace. The bike continued, and was viciously smashed by the truck.

Bruce rolled off the biker and lie, spread eagle, for a moment. Clark hurried to his side.

"Bruce! Bruce, are you okay?"

Bruce's eyes fluttered open, catching Clark's lighter blue. "I'm fine. Just lost my breath for a moment."

The biker moaned and sat up, tugging off his helmet. "What hit me? Was that you?"

The man's savior, pushing himself into a seated position and waving away Clark's offer of help, nodded.

"Well...thanks." He tottered to his feet and pulled off his helmet, simultaneously whistling and grimacing at his decimated motorcycle. "Ouch. That would have been nasty."

"Welcome." Bruce grunted, standing slowly. He wove back and forth for a second while Clark hovered anxiously. (the hovering was not literal, of course, though it could be) Alfred was running, still managing to look dignified, down the sidewalk to the trio. Bruce caught sight of him and, as he twisted, winced, automatically bringing a hand to his ribs, which Clark's x-ray vision found to be broken. "Oh, great." he muttered, so that only Clark, with his super-hearing, heard him.

"Bruce," Clark said, "I'm sorry! I should have--"

"Done what? You'd already grabbed someone, and you were too far away to get there in time. I did the right thing. I may not be a superman like you, Clark, but I'm fine." He said, referring to Clark's inhuman speed and apparent invulnerability. He doubted anyone else had noticed, but he wanted to see the other boy's reaction.

For a moment, Clark's frantic, horrified eyes searched Bruce's face, afraid that he had been discovered. To his relief, there seemed no inclination to tell anyone about Clark's abilities, just slight annoyance at his constant apologies. Clark knew that he could have gotten there in time, that he could have stepped in front of the truck and stopped it, if that was what it took. Speaking of stopping it...Clark turned around just in time to see the left side of the cab slam into a cement barrier and halt the eighteen-wheeler with a titanic screech of metal. After a moment, the driver stumbled out of the cab, seemingly unharmed.

"W-woah..." the biker whispered.

"Master Bruce! What were you thinking?! You could have--"

"Died? Yes, Alfred, but I didn't. Stop worrying."

"I will not stop worrying! You—you!" Alfred continued to rant as he dragged his charge away. Clark stood, slightly shocked, next to the confused biker.

Alfred darted into the restaurant to fetch some paper towels to clean up the Wayne heir's scrapes. Bruce stood stoically under his ministrations, making a retort to one of the butler's comments now and again. When Alfred returned to the restaurant to dispose of the towels, Clark ran up, not wanting the other boy to leave without a goodbye.

"Bruce..."

"Clark."

"Look, don't tell anyone about the ..."

"Clark, the way I see it is this: it's everyone's duty to do what is right. You have a greater ability than others, and therefore a greater duty. As long as you only use your gifts to do that duty, there's no reason for me to turn you in."

Clark sighed. "Thank you."

"But if you ever abuse that gift, I won't hesitate to stop you."

"I never will, so you won't have to worry about it."

"Good. It was nice meeting you, Clark. I hope I see you again someday."

"The same, Bruce."

Clark watched as the black car pulled away. There was something about Bruce...a kind of power, though not physical, like Clark's, about him. He seemed to know his purpose. Clark wished he knew his. But perhaps he had just been told it...a duty_. _A gift. A responsibility. He'd never used his 'gifts' to save anyone before—there wasn't much occasion to in Smallville. But it had felt right. Maybe that was what his gifts were for. For Bruce's _greater duty._

They met again, of course. Years later. One wore the blue and red of good's greatest defender, and the other the black and gray of evil's darkest fear. One created the other, though he didn't know it. The black immediately recognized the blue as Clark. It was a month later that Clark was told the secret of the black, that the black was Bruce. And it was two years later, the conversation from their boyhood fresh in his memory, that Clark gave Bruce a Kryptonite ring, to stop him if he ever abused his gift. They both knew that though they were the closest of friends, if it ever came down to their friendship and right and wrong, Bruce would do what was necessary. He would do the _greater duty_.


End file.
